


In Days to Come

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [46]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mild Adult Language, Mild Angst, Mild sensuality, i'm so excited y'all have no idea, mentions of abuse, some good stuff's coming up, this is a happy fic with a happy ending i promise, y'all are gonna scream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: No summary for this one because it'll give away what it's about, and I want it to be a surprise; this is a Piotr POV fic, though, for those of you who like that.All warnings are in the tags, but this is a very mild fic, I promise. There shouldn't be anything too triggering in this one, and it has a very happy ending. Basically, it's mostly fluff.Set after "Gatekeeper," with tie ins with "Rubber Meets Road" and "Trust and Ugly Truths."





	In Days to Come

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome. ;)

The art studio is one of his favorite places in the mansion. It used to be his absolute favorite place –but that spot is now reserved for the room he shares with you, his little home within a home, just for the two of you.

Piotr closes the door to his studio behind and takes a deep breath. You’re out with friends for the day, which is the only reason he’d secret himself away like this; as much as he loves you, there are some things he doesn’t want you knowing about.

At least, not yet. Soon, but not yet.

He smiles as he sits down at his desk, thoughts still focused on you. Hell, he can remember when he first met you…

 

* * *

 

“Piotr. Can you come with me for a moment? We’re welcoming a new member to our community; I’d appreciate having you present.”

He falls into stride next to the Professor –no small feat, considering how long his legs are in defense mode. “Are we adding another student?”

The Professor shakes his head. “No. A permanent resident, the niece of one of my old friends. She… she’s coming from a rough background.”

He blanches. He’s spent the past several months working with the orphans from Essex House; he knows all too well what “rough” means.

“From what I understand, she’s recently escaped a very abusive living situation,” Charles explains as they head out to the front of the house. “Given your… less obtrusive personality presence, I thought it would be good to have you help with her integration into the Institute.”

Piotr nods. “I will do what I can. Is her guardian bringing her in?”

“No. She’s bringing herself in –ah, here she comes.”

There isn’t a car pulling up on the driveway; it takes him a minute to figure out that the Professor’s looking  _up_ , so he does the same and…

And there you are. Flying in with a small duffel bag strapped to your back, hurtling towards the ground at… an alarming speed, actually.

You let out an “oh shit” about ten feet away from the ground and chuck the bag away from you before careening into the lawn and flopping head over heels across the grass like a cartoon character.

_Bozhe moi_. Piotr darts towards you –well, as much as he ‘darts’—and reaches out to help you up. “Are you alright?”

You’re already sitting up and dusting yourself off. “Ugh, yeah, I’m fine. It just—” You stop mid-sentence when you look up at him, eyes widening and mouth falling open. “Oh my gosh.  _Holy shit!_ ” You stumble to your feet, completely oblivious to the hand he’s offering you. “You look so  _cool_!”

Of all the things he was expecting after hearing about your reasons for coming and the rough landing… that hadn’t been on the list.

“Uh… thank you. You, ah—” he gestures towards your head “—you have grass…”

“Oh shit.” You swipe at your hair, which doesn’t do much to improve the situation. “Am I getting it?”

“ _Nyet_  –no. Hang on, hold still.” He carefully – _carefully_ —plucks the worst of it from your hair, then wipes his hands against his pants when he’s done. “There.”

“Thanks.” You extend your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

He gently shakes your hand. “I am Colossus. Pleasure to meet you.”

You’re already distracted, studying his hands and skin with unabashed wonder. “Wow.”

Charles speaks up from where he’s been watching everything. “This is your first time seeing another mutant, isn’t it?”

You blink, then let go of his hand and smile a little sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. I was… I was the only one where I grew up.”

Piotr watches something dark flit across your face and feels his heart twist for it. “Well, I think you will find good home here.”

“Yes,” Xavier agrees with a smile. “We’re very glad to have you join us, Y/N.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to be here.” You grab your bag, then take in all the dirt and grass stains on your pants and jackets. “Do you guys have a washing machine I can borrow? And a shower?”

Xavier chuckles. “I think we can get something set up.”

 

* * *

 

Looking back at it, he wouldn’t say he was smitten from the moment he met you. He was, always has been, drawn to your spirit and energy, though. He’s always admired optimism and joy in the face of pain and suffering. He admires your compassion.

(Which isn’t to say that those who turn to cynicism ought to be condemned, or that everyone should fake being happy despite their pain; he’s always believed in expressing what you feel when you feel it. That being said, after everything you went through, he expected you to be more jaded, more bitter.)

And it certainly didn’t take him long to become smitten with you. He fell and fell hard; even after confessing his feelings to you, it was still unbelievably difficult to take things at a reasonable pace with you. He’d never been one to dive into things headfirst, and he didn’t with you, but after being with you for so long he wanted to have as much of you as he could.

He still does, hence his little ‘secret’ project.

Piotr pauses in counting through his notes to take a moment to reminisce the night the two of you had crossed the threshold from partners to lovers, a smile playing at his lips…

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to an empty bed.

Normally, that wouldn’t be surprising or alarming; you’re a notorious late night snacker, suffice to say.

However, after the past few days and your nervousness towards having sex…

He’s out of the bed in a rush, still waking up as he walks down the hall of the rental house. The bathroom’s dark and empty, along with the other bedroom, and he can’t hear the TV going or see the glow of the screen from the living area. “ _Myshka_?”

“Yeah?”

He finds you perched on the couch, staring out the window at the bursts of lightning rolling across the sky. He lets out a sigh of relief and leans against the nearest wall. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I just like watching storms.” You hold out a hand to him, grinning.

He doesn’t realize until he’s pulling you into his lap that you’re wearing his shirt; something warm sparks low in his gut, and he kisses the top of your head. “Why are you up? It is middle of night.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you say as you nestle your head against his chest, gaze still focused on the sky. “Decided to chill and watch the storm.”

It’s innocuous enough, save for the fact that he  _knows_  you. “You waited until I was asleep.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… processing.”

He angles his head back so he can see your face better. “Is what we did earlier alright?”

“ _Yes_ ,” you say quickly before dazzling him with a –somewhat embarrassed—smile. “I, uh,  _really_  liked what we did earlier. All of it.” Your gaze drops to his chest as you start rubbing your thumb against his clavicle. “Did… did you like it?”

_Did you like me?_

He hears the unspoken question as he leans in to kiss your cheek. “I did.” He follows the line of your cheekbone back to your ear with his lips, gripping at your waist when you shiver against him. “All of it.” He has to hold back an outright  _growl_  at the way your body molds against his, and he lifts you up so you’re straddling his hips.

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, hands gripping his shoulders briefly before sliding down his chest.

He thinks he could just  _devour_  you here and now, right on the couch, work you up and down until you’re a gasping, whimpering mess.

It’s an entertaining thought.

And one best left for morning, unfortunately

He sighs into the hollow of your throat before pressing a chaste kiss against your skin. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” You repeat, voice high and off kilter as you giggle. “For  _what_?”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Not like that,” he explains as he resettles you in his lap. “You need to rest.”

You huff. “I don’t  _feel_  like resting now.”

He catches your hand before it can dip into his pants. “Later. In the morning. You need rest.”

A flash of lightning briefly illuminates the wide-eyed look you’re giving him. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

He kisses your lips briefly, gently. “By all means.”

You sigh, then flop against him. “Asshole. Getting me all wound up, then telling me to go to bed.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “My apologies,  _moya lyubov’_.”

“You’re a real tease, Piotr. You know that?”

“I will endeavor to do better in future,  _myshka_.” He kisses the top of your head again, then focuses on rubbing soft, slow circles up and down your back.

You slowly relax against him, breaths evening out and deepening until your eyelids start drooping shut. You jerk awake a couple times, but eventually you’re dozing against him, verging on outright sleep.

He kisses your forehead, then smiles at the endearing whimper you let out. “Let’s go to bed,  _dorogoy_.”

“No,” you mumble. “Sleepy here.”

“Bed,” he insists softly. “You will rest better.”

You grunt, then press your face against his chest. “Carry me.”

He can’t help but smile as he kisses your temple. “ _Konechno_.”

He lifts you into his arms, and takes you and himself to bed.

 

* * *

 

He’d known back then that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, whatever that looked like. He wanted to spoil you, cherish you,  _love_  you.

He pauses writing a name on an envelope –a reminder to hand it to the right person and make sure they’re in the right place—to fan the paper back and forth so the ink dries.

He loves you.  _God_ , he loves you.

Not to say that it’s been easy, or that the relationship the two of you have has been one smooth ride. It hasn’t. Sometimes, it still isn’t.

But good things come to those who work for them.

 

* * *

 

Things are better since you went into therapy.

_Not_  because you’re crazy and you need someone to tell you you’re wrong. (No, if he’d gotten wind of  _anything_  like that happening, he would’ve been in Charles’s office with his concerns –and more than one complaint—in a  _heartbeat_.)

No, it’s better because you’re getting help he can’t give you. You’re learning communication tools even he didn’t fully know, and whatever you learn gets passed along into your relationship.

Better, however, doesn’t necessarily mean easy.

Case in point, uh, right now.

You’re sitting on the bed the two of you share, seething while you pointedly look everywhere but at him. “You had no right, Piotr.  _No_.  _Right_.”

“I was worried about you—”

“Oh, so, what? You hacked into my file? And my records? And then you tracked me down based on an unlisted number attached to all that?” You finally look at him, glaring fiercely. “That was an invasion of my privacy. You had no right to do any of that!”

“You left without warning!”

“Which I have every right to do! I’m an adult!”

“You’ve been kidnapped before,” he reminds you tersely. “And you have crossed paths with Harmony. Not to mention, you are here for protection, as permanent resident. If I need to follow up on you for your safety, I will.”

You shake your head. “ _No_. That’s not fair to me.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Be that as it may,  _dorogoy_ , believe me when I say I genuinely believe it is for your safety. There are external variables at play.”

“And it lets you control me and follow me all over the place even when I want privacy,” you spit out, voice dripping with exasperation. “Great.”

Piotr purses his lips. “I was wrong to follow you without warning. I should have talked to Professor Xavier about information I found first.” He closes the distance between the two of you and kneels in front of you. “I overstepped, and I am sorry. If I could go back and change my choice, I would.”

Your lower lip trembles, and you squeeze your eyes shut as tears start trickling down your cheeks. “I can’t –I can’t be controlled again. I can’t have you be like my parents, I can’t be trapped. I close my eyes and I’m still locked in my room—”

He quickly sits next to you on the bed when your voice cracks and lifts you into his arms. “I am so sorry. I do not want to control you.”

“But you’re just going to follow me again!” you insist between sobs. “You’ve done it now, so what’s stopping you in the future?”

He sighs as he rocks you back and forth. “The only time I would follow you is in life or death situation. _Khorosho_?”

“What was so life or death about this?”

“You leave without warning, leave phone behind, go to undisclosed location, and do not check in with anyone?”

You stay quiet for a moment, then let out a breath. You slump against him, frustration seemingly leaving your body as you exhale. “Yeah. Okay. That’s… that’s fair. I wasn’t fair about this.”

“I understand your fear,” he says as he kisses your temple. “And I do not want to add to it. And I did not handle situation well.”

“ _Neither_  of us handled it well,” you correct. “We both fucked up.  _I_  fucked up.” You sniff and press your face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I am sorry as well,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I forgive you.”

“I forgive you, too.”

The room goes quiet for a moment, save for your shaky breathing and sniffling.

“Let’s not do this again,” you pipe up. “Like, with the fighting and the asshole-ing and… all of it. Let’s just… not.”

“I am amenable to that.”

You wrap your arms around his chest and squeeze yourself against him. “I love you, Piotr.”

He hugs you back. “And I love you, Y/N.”

 

* * *

 

He has to lean back on his seat to avoid spilling tears on all the freshly sealed envelopes. He wipes his cheeks dry with the heels of his hands, then wipes off his hands on his jeans.

It’s been a long road to get to where the two of you are now, and it’s been worth every step.

He pulls out his phone and checks that he’s heard from everyone that needs to be involved, then checks to make sure he’s got all the pictures he needs.

 

* * *

 

One fact most people don’t know about him: Piotr loves taking pictures.

They’re an essential part of his life. Not just as references for his artwork –but that’s important too—but to keep him connected to his family. When they’re half the world away, pictures are often all he has of them.

Thus, when you become his girlfriend, it’s only natural that his habit of taking pictures of just about everything includes you.

He likes taking candids of you the most. Despite what you think, you’re really quite photogenic; there’s nothing he loves more of getting a shot of you where you’re completely relaxed, absorbed in whatever you’d been doing in the moment.

Or, perhaps even better, when you’re asleep.

He’d taken care to broach the subject with you first; as cute as –he thinks—“sleepy selfies” are, he knows that taking a picture of someone when they were sleeping could amount to a serious violation of privacy, to say nothing of how creepy it could be when done for the wrong reasons.

But you’d green-lighted it, so every now and then he does indulge.

Case in point, this morning.

He usually wakes up before you. He’s used to waking up early from his days on the farm; he’s a consummate morning person, which is good considering his schedule usually requires him to get up early so he can get to classes or training sessions on time.

And because he usually wakes up before you –you’re a stubborn sleeper—he usually gets to see you in a variety of endearing poses.

Case in point (again), this morning.

You’re currently tucked under the ridiculously fluffy comforter, snuggling your pillow in your sleep. Your face is half obscured by the pillow, and your hair is fanned over the pillowcase.

You look  _adorable_.

It’s a Saturday. He doesn’t have anywhere to be or anything pressing to do.

So he rolls over –quietly—to grab his phone, then carefully angles his shot so it’s  _just_  right…

The sound effect of his phone’s camera wakes you up after the second shot. You inhale sharply as your eyelids flutter open, then smile sleepily when you see what he’s doing.

He chuckles when you hold up your fingers in a peace sign and takes another picture. “ _Dobroye utro_ ,  _myshka_.”

“G’mornin’ to you too, handsome.”

He chuckles again when you make grabby hands at him and obliges you by setting his phone down and drawing you into his arms. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. Except the weirdest thing happened this morning. I could’ve sworn I heard someone taking a picture of me,” you tease.

“You looked very cute,” he says by way of explanation, kissing the top of your head.

“I always look cute.”

“That you do.”

You press a kiss against his chest, then start reaching for his phone. “Let’s take a picture together.”

_He_  holds his phone –he loves you, but your track record with destroying technology is  _astounding_ —and holds it up so you’re both in the shot.

Before he can hit the button to take the picture, you wriggle up and plant a fat, affectionate kiss on his cheek.

He beams. He can’t help it.

 

* * *

 

He closes his eyes and smiles to himself. He can still feel the sensation of your lips pressing against his cheek.  _I am very lucky man._

He loves you. He loves you so much it hurts.

Which is why he’s gone to such extraordinary lengths to make sure all of this goes right.

Piotr kneels down and reaches under his desk.

Growing up in Russia with a mother who worked as an –unwilling—assassin had taught him a thing or two. Namely, that having a bag with necessary documents, IDs, some clothes, and cash was always a smart idea.

And that having hidden compartments on pieces of furniture is also a wise investment.

There’s a false bottom panel on part of his drawing desk that no one else knows about save for Nate –he figures in the event of emergency, the man can be trusted with the precious few documents Piotr keeps in there.

Lately, though, the compartment’s been a hiding place for another precious item.

He pulls out the black velvet ring box and opens it, both to check that the contents are still there and to admire said contents.

A gold band with a tastefully sized diamond set on it glitters up at him.

He smiles, then tucks the ring box back into the compartment before sliding the panel back into place.  _Soon_.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned over the next couple weeks for the follow up to this fic.


End file.
